


Teenage Dirtbags

by xavierurban



Category: One Direction (Band), Radio 1 RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - 1980s, Alternate Universe - High School, Anorexia, Bullying, Child Abuse, Eating Disorders, F/M, Homophobia, I would apologize for the excess of Harry angst but I'm not really sorry, M/M, Minor Character Death, POV Third Person, Past Abuse, References to Suicide, Songfic, Swearing, The Troubles, Violence, allusions to past childhood sexual abuse, niall's pov, probably going to be adjusting various age differences between characters
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-03-08
Updated: 2013-04-25
Packaged: 2017-12-04 15:43:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,972
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/712381
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xavierurban/pseuds/xavierurban
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>Louis has been his best friend since they were in diapers, having grown up on the same block, and Niall reckons that there will always be a piece of him that loves the older boy. And then there's Harry. Harry, who is the youngest of their group and the newest addition to it. He’s newly sixteen, and more than a bit gifted, and they met when Harry was put in their class in year six. Harry belongs to Louis, and Louis, to Harry, and they’re sort of sickening to be around, at times, but the blond knows that he wouldn’t have them any other way. Harry and Louis are one another’s, but they’re also </i>his<i>.</i></p><p>A Niam fic, based on Teenage Dirtbag, but with a strong emphasis on Nourry friendship. I don't know if this has already been done or not, but if it has, here's hoping I've got a different enough premise!</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> For reference: Niall turned 17 in September, Louis turned 18 in December, and Harry turned 16 in February. The story starts in late May.

He isn’t expecting the doorbell to ring – Louis never gets out of his car, preferring to blast the horn until Niall finally gets out the front door – so the blond isn’t expecting to have to run across the house to get to the door. “Christ, Lou,” he’s sighing as he opens it, but the words trail off as he meets eyes that are most definitely not Louis’. No, Lou’s eyes aren’t brown, and neither are Harry’s, but Niall would still know this pair anywhere. They belong to one Liam Payne, and Niall’s breath catches as he opens the door wider, his hand still on the doorknob as he uses it to support himself.

“Um.”

 _Um_? Really? Liam Payne - _the_ Liam Payne, the very one and the same who he’s been mooning over for years now, is standing on his doorstep and the best he can come up with is _’um?’_ Niall shakes his head a few times and plasters on a giddy, if a bit confused smile, “Liam! Hey, what- Uh. You know Zayn’s two doors down, yeah?” He asks, chuckling a bit awkwardly.

But Liam isn’t laughing, he’s just raising an eyebrow at Niall like he’s an idiot, and then stepping through the threshold and into the blond’s house. “Yes, I think I’d know where my boyfriend lives after all this time,” he purrs, and Niall feels his eyebrows crease in confusion. “I’m not looking for Zayn, Niall,” he continues, and it’s not only his words that are still going: the older boy is advancing on him, and Niall cocks his head to the side a little bit. He’s about to ask what Liam’s doing there, then, when his back hits the wall and his breath catches again because he looks up and Liam is _right there_ , right in front of him, and he’s leaning in, the older boy’s lips hovering less than an inch from his own, and-  
Niall wakes with a start, frowning at his alarm and then at the rather unfortunate morning wood that his dream had left him with. With a sigh, he lets his head fall back against his pillow, and mentally counts down from twenty as he thinks about his grandmother and her pack of Bingo-loving girlfriends before he forces himself out of bed to get ready for school.

-x-x-x-x-

Louis honks his car horn from the driveway just as Niall finishes lacing his Chucks, and the blond smirks as he grabs his bag and slings it over his shoulder. They’ve always been oddly in sync, he and Louis, but it never fails to amuse him. He slips out the door, shouting a goodbye to his mother over his shoulder as he closes it behind him, and then bounds down the front-steps and to his friend’s car. The passenger seat is free, but he slips into the back anyway – Haz will throw a fit if Niall steals his seat again – and Louis looks at him in the rear-view and grins.

“Morning, Ni!” He chirps, already putting the car back into gear, and Niall rolls his eyes as he does up his seatbelt. Lou is such a _morning person_ and it’s just plain wrong, especially on a Friday, so he just grunts in response and the older of the two cackles and turns the stereo up, singing along to Running Free. Niall can’t help but smile fondly as he watches him.

See, Louis has been his best friend since they were in diapers, having grown up on the same block, and Niall reckons that there will always be a piece of him that loves the older boy. Lou is the only boy in his family, the oldest of five kids, and it’s been just them and their mum for six years now. Niall still remembers when his dead left; the image of Louis crying on his doorstep is one that will be burned into his mind forever. He can only think of three other times that he’s seen the older boy cry in the seventeen years that he’s known him, each one as vividly recorded in his brain as the last. It isn’t like Louis is a cold person, because he’s actually one of the warmest and most genuine blokes that Niall has ever known, but he’s strong, and he’s stubborn, and he hates looking weak more than he hates just about anything else in the world. And so he keeps his pain locked up behind bright blue eyes and cheesy grins. Lou’s only two inches taller than himself, but there seems to be an endless amount of energy bundled up inside his small build; the caramel-haired boy is constantly buzzing, never still for more than a few minutes at a time unless he’s asleep or curled up with Harry.

Harry, who is the youngest of their group and the newest addition to it. He’s newly sixteen, and more than a bit gifted – he’d skipped years three and five, and his high school career has been peppered with AP classes – and they met when Harry was put in their class in year six. Despite his age, Harry is easily the tallest of their group (and still growing), and his frame is just this side of ‘too thin.’ Rich, chocolate brown curls frame his face, hanging low in a way that sometimes hides the startling green of his eyes, and he’s got these soft, full, pink lips that make Niall want to kiss him (but he never does. He doesn’t think that Harry or Louis would mind, really, but something always holds him back. And if that something is the memory of Harry at fourteen years old, with cracked, bruised lips and fingerprints around his neck and wrists, well, he’s not going to say so).

Harry belongs to Louis, and Louis, to Harry, and Niall often thinks that it’s a bloody shame they’ll never be able to get married or have kids – after all, who was going to let a gay couple adopt children? – but he doesn’t like to think about that. They’re sort of sickening to be around, at times, but the blond knows that he wouldn’t have them any other way. Harry and Louis are one another’s, but they’re also _his_ , and that’s never going to change.

It isn’t a long drive from Niall’s house to Harry’s, and they arrive right around the time that they always do, but the other boy is already outside, sitting on the curb with a nearly finished fag hanging from his lips. The tension in his shoulders seems to lift when he sees them, and he smiles, takes one last drag from his cigarette, and then stubs it out before climbing into the car. He leans across the centre console and presses a kiss to Louis’ lips before he turns to flash a grin at the blond. “I’m glad _someone’s_ remembered their place this time,” he teases, his smile widening when Niall flips him off. “Don’t be like that, Nialler,” he whines, reaching out to ruffle the other teen’s blond locks.

Niall swats his hand away and grins. “I’m not sure you’re even old enough to sit shotgun, Styles,” he fires back, smirking when Harry crosses his arms and turns back around with an exaggerated _’hrmph!’_ He kicks the back of Harry’s seat lightly, grinning at the younger boy when he turns back around and glares at him. Eventually the hardness melts away, and the green-eyed boy offers his own grin in response. “Love you, Haz,” Niall promises, his tone full of unnecessary sweetness as his friend turns back to the front once again.

Harry lights up another smoke as soon as Louis parks the car and lets them out, and Louis sighs as he slinks up next to him. His lips press a kiss to the back of his boyfriend’s neck before he chides, “Slow down, there, Curly.” The younger boy looks sheepish, biting his lip for a moment before whispering a _'sorry,’_ and Niall hates that he can look so sad over such a small scolding.

“Oh, leave him be, Lou,” Niall says, taking out his own pack and lighting up a cigarette of his own, “We all know that Haz can’t function properly before he’s had three smokes and a coffee.” His lips curl slightly at the sides, and he nudges the boy in question with his elbow. “Ain’t that right, Haz?” He asks, and the youngest boy rewards him with a grateful smile.

Louis, on the other hand, sighs again and crosses his arms over his chest. “Well, maybe if he tried eating breakfast, instead,” he mutters quietly – but not quietly enough to go unheard – and his boyfriend lets out a groan as he closes his eyes.

“You _know_ eating in the morning makes me feel sick,” he protests, but Louis just gives yet another sigh and says _'whatever you say, Haz.’_

-x-x-x-x-

They part ways with Louis after stopping by their lockers; the oldest boy heading to Physics as the other two make their way to the gym for P.E. First period gym is the worst, as far as Niall is concerned. You spend your morning getting cleaned up and presentable just to get drenched in sweat within the first hour of the day. It’s the reason Niall doesn’t shower in the mornings anymore, opting instead to take one after gym every day. Harry, on the other hand, hates to shower at school – Hell, he hates to even change there, and always wears his gym gear to school so he’ll only have to do it once. So, when they get to the changeroom, Harry just sits around and fidgets with the laces of his trainers as Niall strips down and changes his clothes. Their classmates file in at their own pace, all arriving before the warning bell, and Niall tries his best not to stare as Liam stops a bit further down the row of lockers and pulls off his shirt. He’s only spared his own embarrassment because he hears Harry squeak and he turns around to see MJ, Zayn’s best mate, leaning over him. He’s got his fingers curled tightly into the younger boy’s hair, tugging at the strands; his smile is far from kind, and it’s way too bloody early for this.

“Oi, Johnston,” Niall shouts, glaring at the other blond until he lets go, “How about you piss off, yeah?” He stares his classmate down for a moment longer, his blue eyes furious, until MJ finally relents. He slaps Harry not-so-gently on the cheek before walking away, and Niall has to bite down on the inside of his cheek and breathe deeply through his nose to keep from socking him in the face when he walks past him. He lets out his breath after a long moment and drops down next to Harry on the bench. “What was that about?” He demands, casting a quick glance Harry’s way. When the younger boy shakes his head and says _'nothing,’_ Niall gives him a disbelieving look until he sighs.

“We’re playing dodge ball today,” he finally mutters, and Niall growls. There’s only one reason MJ would see fit to bring that up, and it makes his blood boil.

“It’ll be okay, Haz,” he reassures, but they both know he’s lying through his teeth.

-x-x-x-x-

Dodge ball actually _does_ go better than anticipated, but it was still quite rough, and Niall knows that Harry’s going to be upset all day. The younger boy doesn’t have any classes with Louis until after lunch, and he’s only got one more with Niall – third period Calculus – but MJ, Zayn, and a handful of their other friends are in his second period. The sixteen year-old is brooding by the time he gets to Calculus, and once it’s clear that he doesn’t want to talk about it, Niall lets himself get lost in staring at Liam. Niall likes Calculus – not the subject, but the class – because he’s got Haz, and Liam sits two rows over and three seats up, and he’s usually able to get away with watching him without anyone but Harry calling him out on it. Liam’s in his fourth period Chemistry class, too, but so is Zayn, so Calculus really is loads better. It’s not an issue of the other boy being a different person around Zayn or anything like that, it’s just that Zayn scares the piss out of him, if he’s being honest, and Niall’s pretty sure the darker boy could – and, more importantly, _would_ – kill him if he knew the truth about his feelings for Liam.

So, yeah, whenever Niall can watch Liam without the fear of Zayn catching him, he’s quick to take advantage of it. Sometimes he takes a bit _too_ much advantage of it, though, and it’s only when he feels Harry kick his leg under the desk that he snaps his attention away from his crush. “What?” He hisses, and the curly-haired boy sighs.

“Honestly, Nialler,” he says, his tone exasperated, “Are you going to help me with these, or am I just going to do them myself and stick your name on them?” He gestures towards the half-completed page on his desk, and Niall feels his cheeks heat up. He’d noticed Liam pushing his desk closer to his neighbour's, but it hadn’t clicked in his head that they’d been assigned partner work. Grabbing his pencil, he apologizes and pulls the sheet across Harry’s desk and towards himself. _'Yeah, yeah,’_ is all Harry responds with.

They work mostly in silence for the rest of the period, and Harry alternates between kicking him and jabbing him in the side with his pencil whenever his attention returns to Liam for too long. When the bell rings, signalling the end of class and the start of lunch, Harry lets out a sigh of relief at the same time that Niall groans in frustration. “Does he have to look so bloody _good_ all of the time?” He asks, his gaze following Liam until he leaves the room, and he groans again when he feels a hand messing up his hair.

“C’mon, Ni,” Harry prompts, already standing and clutching his binder to his chest, “Maybe if we get to the caf. quickly enough we can snag the table across for Li’s.” Niall perks up at that, not even caring when his friend chuckles and shakes his head at him, and the blond follows him out of the room a few moments later. As expected, Harry doesn’t take long at his locker, and he’s soon following Niall to the school’s cafeteria. He grabs the table while the blond gets in line for food, and Niall sees him brighten considerably when Louis joins him a few minutes later, two cartons of fries already on his tray along with a Sprite and a diet Coke.

He sits across from his two best friends when he joins them, his gaze not so subtly shifting to focus behind them as Zayn and Liam sit down at their regular table. He feels a pang of jealousy in his gut when the pair exchanges a kiss and Liam rests his head on Zayn’s shoulder as he picks at his salad. Niall wishes that he was the one Liam was leaning on, that it was his fingers toying with the curls at the back of the older boy’s neck... He blinks, startled back into awareness when two fingers start snapping right in front of him. “Huh?”

Louis laughs like Niall’s just told the most hilarious joke he’s ever heard, and the blond huffs out his annoyance. “Honestly, Nialler,” he chastises, “If you stare any longer, you’re going to start drooling, and I’m so not down with that.” His words draw a giggle from Harry, who then proceeds to push his fries towards the blond, asking, _'want the rest of these?’_ , and Niall has to do a bit of a double take because what does Harry mean, ‘the rest of these?’ It looks like he hasn’t even touched them, and Niall raises an eyebrow at him.

“Jesus, Haz, did you even touch these?” He asks, but he’s pulling them towards himself anyway – because, really, when has he _ever_ said no to free food? Harry tells him, _'uh, yeah?’_ , like it’s obvious, and the response should be defensive and too quick, but it’s not. Instead, it comes with an ease that can only be described as practiced, and Niall thinks that that might actually be worse. Instead of saying anything else, though, he just nods and starts munching away at Harry’s not-so-leftovers. It isn’t long before he zones out again, his attention back on Liam until Harry stands up, drawing his attention. “Where you going?” He asks, and maybe it’s a dumb question, because Haz _always_ goes for a smoke after lunch – and during class changes, for that matter – but his mind is still wrapped up with thoughts of kissing Liam the way Zayn had just been doing. The younger boy rolls his eyes at him, says something about smoking, and Niall waves him away. “Nah, nah, I’m good,” he says, his tone clearly distracted, and Harry shrugs and tells him _'suit yourself’_ before he grabs onto Louis’ hand and drags him off towards the doors.

Liam and Zayn are still going at it when Niall looks at them again, and he groans, running his hand over his face. It isn’t fair that Zayn gets to do that, gets to be the one making Liam’s cheeks flush like that, and after another long moment, Niall stands up and takes his trash over to the garbage bins to dispose of it. He glances at his watch, and decides that, since he’s got the time, maybe he does want a smoke after all. He doesn’t bother looking for Lou and Harry when he makes it outside, and he puts his headphones in and presses down the play button on his Walkman before he lights his cigarette and loses himself in the smoke and Bruce Dickinson’s voice. When he finally heads to Chemistry, Niall finds Zayn and Liam conspicuously absent, and finds himself regretting eating such a big lunch.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry for the wait; life and school got in the way a lot more than anticipated. Hopefully the next update will be along more quickly. Warning for fleeting mentions of homicide and suicide near the beginning; in the latter half of the third major section of this chapter (so, basically, the very last scene), there is Niall/OFC smut, so if that's not your thing, feel free to skip it. On a semi-related note, female smut is really not my forte, so any feedback would be greatly appreciated!
> 
> Enjoy xoox

Harry looks like he’s still three-quarters asleep when he opens the door, his hair unstyled and his glasses resting low on the bridge of his nose. He stifles a yawn, draws his button-up closer around himself, and retreats back into the house, heading straight to the kitchen as Niall and Louis let themselves in and lock the door behind them. When they catch up with the younger boy, he’s leaning against the counter, watching the stream of coffee dripping down into the pot with the most forlorn expression on his face and Niall can’t help but laugh.

“Good morning to you, too, Haz,” he says, ruffling the younger boy’s curls as he walks past him and takes three mugs out of the cupboard. Harry merely grunts, and Niall chuckles again. He sets the mugs down, watching as Louis crowds into his boyfriend’s space and plants and kiss – loud and sloppy – on his cheek. The kettle on the stove whistles, eventually, and only then does Lou let go of Harry to grab his designated cup and prepare his tea (he has the decency to refrain from sipping it until the coffee is finished perking and the other boys are leading the way to the wreckroom, full mugs of dark liquid steaming away in their hands).

There really isn’t much to be said as they drink, and it’s not until they’ve all finished and set their empty cups on the cluttered coffee table that Harry drapes himself across their laps and looks up at them. “Hi,” he finally greets, his grin soft and sheepish until Louis starts massaging his hair and he closes his eyes, his expression relaxing as he purrs.  
“Hey yourself,” Lou murmurs, and Niall just smirks and lets his fingers trace over the sliver of skin showing where his t-shirt has ridden up. This is how their weekends usually start, if he’s being honest. Haz rolls out of bed when he hears Lou’s car pulling up the drive, zombies about until he’s had his morning coffee, and then silently demands their affections until the caffeine has started to work its magic. It’s not altogether uncommon for them to doze back off in the meantime, and it looks like Harry’s well on his way to that point, but he stirs and opens his eyes again when Lou asks, “Where’s Grimmy, Haz?”

Grimmy – Nick Grimshaw, really, but people rarely call him Nick – is Harry’s stepbrother, but anyone looking at them would think they were truly related (sometimes – not often, mind you, but sometimes – Niall wonders about Harry’s paternity, wonders if his father is really who Anne always told him it was. He doesn’t like to think that way, though, doesn’t like to think that Harry went through so much pain at the hands of a man who had no reason to be in his life). Harry’s mother worked with Nick’s father, Peter, for years, so the two boys grew up together (Harry grew up with Grimmy, rather, given that Nick was already nine when he was born). When Harry was ten, Anne finally found the courage to leave his father – an abusive, deadbeat drunk – and they moved in with the Grimshaws. Anne and Mr. Grimshaw were married less than two years later, and dead another two after that (everyone says it was a car-wreck, a tragic accident, but no one ever talks about the way the brakes had been tampered with, or about how Harry’s father committed suicide two months later). Nick’s had custody of Harry ever since, and the younger boy never talks about the two months he’d been forced to spend back in his childhood home (after a while, everyone stopped asking. Niall thinks that it must have been bad, though; Haz wouldn’t let anyone – not even _Louis_ – touch him for weeks during or after).

Nick’s always been good with Harry, so Niall’s got a lot of respect for the guy. Would have anyway, he figures, because Grimmy is bloody hilarious, and an all-around great bloke who has always had their backs when they’ve needed him. During the week, he co-hosts the morning show on the local radio station with Matty “he’s not my boyfriend, you brats” Fincham, and spends his weekends DJing at this little hole in the wall club that always lets them in, even though Niall and Harry are still underage. He’s a few inches taller than Harry (for now, as the younger brother never fails to remind him), wears his hair up in a quiff not all that unlike Zayn’s, and Niall is pretty sure that he and Harry have got a communal wardrobe going on, because he’s never seen either of them in something that he hasn’t previously seen on the other brother. Come to think of it, the button-up currently hanging loosely from Harry’s frame looks an awful lot like the one Niall remembers seeing Nick in last weekend.

Harry blinks a few times as he processes Louis’ question, and then shrugs, closes his eyes again. “S’out,” he mutters, like that explains everything, and Niall supposes that it must, because he and Louis are nodding like they understand perfectly. A few more minutes pass before Niall gives Harry’s leg a shake and declares, _‘alright, Curly, time to wake the fuck up. I’m bored.’_ Harry whines, but sits up eventually, fixing his glasses as he settles down with his back to Lou’s chest.

They end up taking turns playing Super Mario Bros. on the Nintendo for a few hours after that, and Niall and Harry are mid-squabble over who gets to play Mario this time when the front door opens and they hear laughter and footsteps. The laughter fades into giggles as it gets closer, and Nick leans against the doorframe when he reaches the wreckroom; a rather exasperated looking Matty pops up behind him a few seconds later. They both start to greet the boys as the same time, and it sends Grimmy into another fit of giggles as Matty mutters _‘for_ God’s _sake, Nicolas’_ like he wants nothing more than to grab the older man’s shoulders and shake him until he shuts up.

“Bit early for tha’, innit?” Louis asks, nodding towards Nick, but Matty just shrugs and says something about a Mimosa brunch for the radio crew. Harry pouts, crossing his arms over his chest as he demands to know why he wasn’t invited along. Matty gives him a pointed look before reminding him, _‘you’re sixteen, you little shit,’_ to which Harry simply huffs and nuzzles into the side of Niall’s neck.

“You can come with tonight, you bunch of delinquents,” Grimmy tells them, grinning widely even as Matty rolls his eyes and purses his lips. The boys all cheer, Harry’s fist shooting into the air to celebrate his victory, and Niall can’t help but find it funny how everyone always plays like Matty doesn’t care; he’s heard the two men arguing about this before, and he knows Matty’s worried about Nick losing custody. It’s a valid point, really, and Nick’s age coupled with the fact that both brothers are openly gay is already three strikes against them in the town’s eyes, but Niall knows as well as anyone that Grimmy hasn’t got the heart to tell Hazza “no.”

It’s then that Matty grabs onto Grimmy’s forearm and drags him from the wreckroom. “Don’t be such a grump, Finchy,” Harry calls after them. Louis adds an _‘oi, and keep it down, yeah?’_ , and Niall can do nothing but laugh when the younger boy scrunches his face in disgust and gives his boyfriend a shove. “ _Lou,_ ” he whines, “I don’t want to think about that!”

“Would you rather hear it, then?” Niall asks, and the two older boys exchange a look when Harry puts his hands over his ears and starts shouting _‘la la la la.’_

-x-x-x-x-

They order Chinese food when dinner finally rolls around, and Niall cheers inwardly when Harry lets Lou feed him some of his orange chicken before returning to his steamed rice and mixed vegetables. They all know better than to say anything, but he sees the small smiles that Grimmy and Matty exchange and knows that he isn’t the only one whose been worrying.

He and Louis leave when everyone has finished their dinner, and Louis grins widely when Harry calls after them to _‘make sure you dress extra-special for me!’_ Niall rolls his eyes as he climbs into the passenger seat. He’s looking forward to going out, but he’s getting tired of feeling like a third – or fifth – wheel so much of the time. Hopefully tonight will be different, he tells himself later, when he’s standing in front of his mirror, gel making his fingers sticky as he styles and restyles blond strands until he’s happy with them. He’d dreamt about Liam again last night – after an embarrassingly short wank spent thinking about what Liam and Zayn had been doing when they’d skipped class – and he has every intention of trying to pull that night. He very nearly doesn’t care who, either – boy or girl – he just knows that if he has to spend another night with just his hand for company, he’ll go absolutely mental. Maybe, if he’s lucky, he’ll even find a bloke who looks like Liam, all light brown curls and rich brown eyes.

He’s shocked out of his thoughts when he hears a car horn, and the blond cusses out loud as he crosses to his bedroom window, throws it open, and shouts at Lou to _‘hang on!’_ He slams the window shut after that, and then scrambles to change his jeans. He makes sure, though, to take the time to admire his arse in the mirror before he shrugs on his leather jacket, grabs his fake ID and wallet, and makes his way downstairs. Louis honks again while he’s putting on his trainers, and Niall flips him off when he finally makes it outside.

The older boy gives him a proper once-over when he opens the car door, and lets out a low whistle as the blond slides into the seat. “Trying to pull the entire crowd tonight, Nialler? He asks, and Niall feels his cheeks heat up. He tells Lou that _‘no, one or two of them is plenty,’_ and watches as his friend flicks his head to get his fringe out of his eyes. “Shouldn’t have any problems with that, then,” he predicts, shooting a smile at the younger of the pair as he puts the car into reverse, peels out of the driveway, and heads towards the bus terminal.  
Niall really hopes that he’s right.

-x-x-x-x-

The club isn't particularly full or lively when they arrive, but the boys are used to that (Nick's always got the odd sets, which means he's got to be there to start the night. It's not so bad, really, because it means there aren't that many people around to see the bouncers letting them in). Louis orders a pitcher of Guinness and three glasses, and it's a nice way to start the night. Grimmy checks the mic about fifteen minutes after their beer comes, and Niall rolls his eyes when Haz shouts that they're _'here for the music, not your bloody chatter!'_ Nick takes it in his stride, flipping the group of them off as he turns back to his equipment to finish getting everything in order. The club's gained a good twenty or so more people by the time the lights dim and Grimmy starts up his set.

They're on their second pitcher when his opening set ends, and Harry laughs and claps his brother on the back when he walks over and snags the younger boy's glass. "Finally! Maybe we'll get some _real_ music now," he teases, and Nick flicks at the tip of his nose, tells him, _'that_ was _real music, ya mangy tit,'_ and Niall has to laugh because, of all the things that they could fight over, it's only ever music. There are so few bands the pair of them agrees on, and Nick always holds off on playing them until the night is almost over.

Nick leaves them after finishing Harry's beer, and the green-eyed boy pouts into his empty glass for a few seconds before he flags down the bartender and demands a round of his favourite, sickly-sweet shots. They're purple, and go down easily, tasting a bit like candy floss, and Niall swears he could just drink a bowl of the mixture like he would his mam's tomato soup. The second DJ’s set is starting to get good – at least, according to Harry it is – and Niall orders himself a pint, waving his friends off to the dancefloor with an _‘I’ll be fine, go on,’_ when the younger boy starts shouting something along the lines of _‘oh my God, this is my_ favourite _song’_ (even though Niall’s pretty sure that they’ve never heard it before in their lives). He lets out an exaggerated _‘eugh!’_ and wipes at his cheek when Louis kisses it before bouncing off after Haz, and raises his glass in thanks when the bartender hands over his Guinness.

“You mind if I sit here, mate?”

Niall doesn’t hear her so much as he sees her, standing there with a hand on her hip and a perfectly-sculpted eyebrow raised like she’s waiting for answer. Her hair looks soft, falling in these long, strawberry waves, a perfect frame for skin so white Niall thinks it must be translucent, and her eyes are a green that could rival even Harry’s. He blinks slowly when he’s finished looking her over, and thinks he must look and sound a bit dumb as he asks _‘huh?’_ , but she only smiles and repeats herself. Niall nods, gestures vaguely as if to tell her _‘no, go for it,’_ and drains the last of his pint as she settles onto the stool next to his. “You sound like summer,” he tells her, and she just laughs, all light and airy, and asks _‘where?’_ and Niall feels himself break out into the smile he knows is reserved for talk of Ireland (and Liam) as he says, “Mullingar.” She smiles back, flicks her strawberry locks over her shoulder as she says _‘Derry,’_ and Niall’s just drunk enough to think that this must be love.

Two rounds of shots later finds them on the dancefloor, their movements all bump-and-grind until they’re so far gone that Louis actually shoves them towards the bathrooms. She buries her face against his chest, that tinkering laugh bubbling back up as she steadies herself against him and then leans up, presses her lips to his jaw. Niall’s breath catches, but only for a moment, and then he’s tugging her towards one of the stalls, crowding her against the door once it’s shut and locked, and her hands are working at his belt almost as quickly as their lips are meeting, crashing against each other as his tongue licks into her mouth, chasing the taste of vodka and _girl_. She’s got his jeans and his pants down around his knees in what must be record time, and Niall has to catch up, rucking her skirt up and tearing down her knickers until they’re slipping down on their own and she manages to step out of them.

He kisses her again, nipping at her bottom lip as he reaches down, lets his thumb brush across her clit a few times before trailing his fingertips along soft, sensitive skin. He swallows her whimper as he slowly slips a finger inside, stroking lightly for a moment before he adds a second, and then she’s breaking away, her head falling back against the door of the stall and Niall’s mouth finds a new home at the base of her neck. He works her for a few moments longer, his thumb sweeping over her clit again as she keens and squeezes around his fingers, and then she’s reaching into her bra, pulling out a small foil package and tearing it open with shaking hands. The thought alone is enough to tear a moan from Niall, and he curls his fingers inside of her one last time before he pulls back and lets her roll the condom over his hardening length. She pumps him a few times once it’s on, captures his lips in another fierce kiss, and Niall _almost_ loses his balance when she jumps up, her legs winding around him as he brings a hand to rest against her ass as a support. Her arms curl around his shoulders, one hand working into his hair as he breaks the kiss and looks down, guides himself to her entrance and starts to press in, and he isn’t really sure who it is that gasps at the sensation. Her legs tighten around him and he pushes in further, keeps going until he’s all the way in, and then they’re kissing again as he starts to pull out. It’s not long until they find a rhythm, and Niall thinks that the sharp gasps and whines that she makes might be even more beautiful than her laugh, especially when he drops his free hand between them and presses two fingers to her clit, rubbing in small, quick circles that seem to drive her crazy.

A high-heel clatters to the floor, and Niall distantly thinks that he’ll have to be careful not to trip over it when they’re done, but the thought is gone almost as quickly as it arrives, chased out by the pleasure flooding his system. A sharp tug to his hair has him moaning, his hips stuttering as he tries to quicken his pace, and he manages one, two, three more thrusts before he’s coming, his fingers rubbing with increased intent until she’s crying out with her own orgasm. They’re still, save the rise and fall of their chests, for a few moments after that, until Niall finally pulls out and she unwinds seemingly boneless arms and legs from around him, leaning against the door just to keep herself upright as Niall ties off the condom and tosses it in the toilet. He bends to pull his trousers and pants back up, fumbling with the belt a few times before he finally gets it, and then bends again to get her panties and shoe, passing them to her and looking away as if to give her some semblance of privacy as she fixes herself back up. He shoots her a smile when he feels fingertips on his chin and leans in to press one last kiss to her lips before he mutters a _‘cheers’_ and lets her walk away.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so, so sorry for the wait, and I really hope you'll think it was worth it. I got a bit stuck trying to figure out how to make this story more Niall-centric, because, well, it's SUPPOSED to be, but I can't help but feel that it's becoming "Harry's life, through Niall's eyes. Also his crush." I had most of this chapter already written before I got caught up, so it does seem like it's still pretty Harry-centric, but the latter part is definitely all Niall and his family, and, well, it sets up for more of Niall's plot, but I don't want to give anything away!
> 
> Enjoy xoox

Sunday passes in a haze of hangovers and cuddling, and when Niall finally makes it home at half ten that night, his mother actually has to badger him into opening his Accounting text and workbook and doing the journals and ledgers for the sample of transactions that had been assigned to the class (fortunately, he’d finished his Chemistry homework on Friday night). It takes him a bit longer than he’d have liked, because when he goes to balance the journal, the totals are off and he has to scour the list until he realizes he’s skipped half of a transaction and has to edit it in. By the time he’s forced himself through the ledgers and made it to bed, he’s exhausted, and his efforts are rewarded with another dreamless night.

-x-x-x-x-

They’re talking about prom.

 _Again_.

Niall can’t help but groan into his carton of milk as he Harry rambles on and on about how great it’s going to be. Niall has made it perfectly clear that he has no intentions of attending, but Harry and Lou are having none of it. It’s a bit frustrating, really, because he wishes that they would just _let it go already_ , but Haz is determined (and that just makes it all the more infuriating, because he’s nearly as bad at saying “no” to him as Grimmy is).

“If you don’t find someone between now and then, you could take Charlie,” Lou offers, his expression so earnest that Niall actually feels a bit bad when he replies, _‘I’m not taking your little sister to prom, Tommo.’_ It’s not like Charlie isn’t a sweet girl, and Niall reckons she’s actually got a bit of a crush on him, always blushing and refusing to meet his eyes whenever he’s around, but she’s like a sister to him, and _besides_ , that isn’t even the point.

Of course, with the idea put out there, it’s only a moment before Harry pipes up, “Well, what about Grimmy, then?”

Niall sighs and runs a hand through his hair. “I’m not taking your brother, either, Haz. Or-” He continues, shooting the youngest boy a look when he opens his mouth, “Or Matty, so forget it.” He uses his fork to push his potatoes around on his plate for a few seconds before he asks, “What makes you think that’s what this is about, anyway? Having a date?” He has to roll his eyes when his best friends look at each other, Louis screwing his face up in confusion before muttering _‘isn’t it?’_

_It genuinely isn’t, and Niall is, perhaps unfairly (because he hasn’t exactly offered up an alternate explanation), upset that they don’t seem to understand. The problem is this: prom means graduation, which means summer break, which means the final countdown until Haz and Lou leave for Oxford and he leaves for Dublin. It means not seeing Liam every day, and that lazy weekends with his boys will be few and far between. It means growing up and living on his own, and Niall really isn't sure that he's ready for all of that._

_“No,”_ Niall replies, his tone laced with agitation as he pushes his lunch tray away. Instead of explaining how he really feels, though, he says, “I just think it’s bloody stupid. It’s so… It’s such a fucking _cliché_ , and you know I bloody-well hate school dances, so why should this be any different?”

He groans again when he looks at his friends, sees the wounded look Harry is giving him, as if Niall had _personally_ offended him, and the he can’t take it anymore. He stands up, grabbing his tray and mutters that he’s _‘going for a fag’_ and then adds, _‘don’t fucking follow me’_ before he walks away, dumping his garbage before he makes his way outside. He ends up speeding through two cigarettes as he silently fumes, and then makes his way to the Chem. Lab, even though he’s got fifteen minutes until the bell.

He’s working on his Calculus homework as he waits for the rest of the class to join him in the lab, figuring that he might as well put his time to good use instead of brooding, and he gets so wrapped up in figuring out one of the questions that he doesn’t hear the other students filing it or the bell that rings a few moments later. He doesn’t even hear the teacher he starts the lecture, or the scrape of chalk against the board, but he does hear when Liam speaks, and looks up as discreetly as he can to stare at him.

_“Zayn.”_

His voice is sharp, but hushed, and his eyes are wide as he casts a frantic look around the room before his attention returns to the darker boy’s face and then drops to his lap. Curious, Niall drops his own gaze and what he sees causes his breath the catch and his jaw to drop. He’s quick to snap the latter closed, but he can’t stop staring, feels like his eyes are probably bulging out of his head, and he strains to hear the hushed conversation the two boys are having in front of him.

“Are you _crazy_?” Liam is asking, and Zayn smirks – fucking _smirks_ , like he’s hot shit because he’s brought a _gun_ to school – and strokes his thumb down the sleek metal of the barrel. Liam shrugs out of his – Zayn’s – letterman and throws it across his boyfriend’s lap, covering the weapon, and Niall feels a little dizzy when he realizes that _Liam is hiding the gun. Liam is protecting Zayn, instead of drawing attention to what’s going on, and how could he_ do _that?_ Okay, yeah, Liam isn’t the saint that he’s built him up to be in his head, but he’s still a fundamentally _good_ person, and Niall just can’t understand why he would risk the safety of himself and his peers like this.

Then again, he hasn’t said anything, either.

“ _Relax_ , Li,” Zayn mutters, his smirk deepening as he leans in a pecks the younger boy on the lips, “Ain’t even loaded.” The words seem to have the desired effect, because no sooner has he said them before Liam is sagging in his seat, his shoulders relaxing as he lets out a relieved sigh; Niall can’t bring himself to share in his crush’s relief. It doesn’t matter if the gun’s loaded or not – okay, logically, he knows that it _matters_ , but it’s the principle of the entire thing that really counts. Zayn had brought a _gun_ to school, loaded or not- and to do what? Scare the piss out of someone? Everyone? To make himself feel cooler?

If Niall thought he feared the older teen before, it was nothing compared to how he feels now. Just because the gun wasn’t loaded _now_ – provided Zayn was even telling the truth – that doesn’t mean that he hasn’t go the bullets at home or, Hell, in his bag, and the blond is suddenly hit by how very, _very_ unfortunate his crush on Liam is.

It doesn’t hit him until the end of the day, when he overhears Danny asking Zayn if he _‘got it’_ and sees a flash of metal being passed between him and MJ that maybe it isn’t _himself_ he needs to be afraid for. He’s sprinting before he even consciously makes the decision to move, and he’s out of breath when he makes it to Harry’s locker, his eyes wide and panicked as he grabs onto the younger boy’s arm, clinging tight as he gasps in a few deep breaths, and he spares a passing thought for the fact that he’s been getting out of shape ever since he quit the track team.

“Ni?” It’s Lou’s voice, he thinks, he must have chased after him when he’d started running, and he closes his eyes for a moment as he chokes on his own words. “Nialler, what’s wrong, babe? Why’d you run? Talk to us.” The worry in the oldest boy’s voice is clear as day, and Niall takes one last deep breath and then lets it out as he opens his eyes.

“MJ’s got a gun,” he says, and it comes out rushed, the edge of panic still rippling through his system, “Zayn told Liam is isn’t loaded, but I don’t- I don’t know. Can we go? Please, can we just go? Lou, you can skip footie, just this one, yeah? Please?” It’s not like he needs to ask, he knows without a shadow of a doubt that Louis will agree in a heartbeat, and he isn’t disappointed. It takes a moment, because Harry has gone stock still, his green eyes as wide as they are glazed, and Lou is taking in quick breaths, his arm tightening around Harry’s waist as he processes the information. _“C’mon,”_ Niall urges, and that seems to get through to Louis, causes him to snap Harry’s locker shut and grab hold of Niall’s hand as his arm moves from his boyfriend’s waist to his shoulders, wrapping around them and drawing him into his side with a steady _‘let’s go’_.

They don’t run, but they do walk quickly, and Niall shoots looks around them every couple of seconds, but Louis only has eyes for the destination and has no qualms with shoving people out of their way to get there. Harry, on the other hand, doesn’t look like he’s seeing anything at all, and it hits him hard when he realizes that the younger boy probably isn’t even scared, probably hasn’t even registered the threat because he’s too caught up in thoughts of red stained sheets and slipping in blood as he scrambles away from his bed and lunges for the phone on his dresser. Thoughts of his father sprawled across his bed, the gun still clutched in his lifeless hand, the barrel slipped free of his mouth since the moment he’d crumpled, dead and unmoving. The three of them make it out of the school without running into MJ and his friends, and Niall breathes for what feels like the first time since he’d seen the exchange when he sees that there’s no one surrounding Louis’ car.

He doesn’t really think about it before he forces Harry into the backseat and then climbs in after him, but he’s glad that he does it, because he’s _shaking_ and he curls against Niall’s side immediately in a way that he couldn’t have with Louis, not when there’s the console between them and he needs to drive. There’s a stream of curses falling steadily from his own lips as Louis turns the car on and wastes no time in peeling out of the parking lot (and when Niall glances towards the front doors of the school, he swears he sees a flash of Liam getting right up into MJ’s face, but he doesn’t say anything else, just turns to Harry and presses his lips to the top of his friend’s head).

-x-x-x-x-

Harry is responsive again by the time they get him settled onto the chesterfield in his wreckroom, but he stays curled up against Niall as Louis rages, pacing across the room and gesturing wildly as words of anger spill from his lips. He thinks that Lou probably knows he’s putting Haz on edge, but he understands how hard it can be to rein yourself in when you’re well and truly pissed. If he weren’t still so bloody scared, he figures he’d be right there next to him.

“They had to have known,” he’s saying, and Niall clenches his fists because Louis is right. Harry was absent for two weeks after his father had killed himself, and his suicide made the local news – everyone knew what had happened, and most people knew that it was Harry who found him. It hadn’t been stated explicitly, but they had lived alone and it was the most logical assumption. He vents for a while longer, just until it’s out of his system and not a second more, and then the three of them are cuddling on the couch, worn and exhausted by the time Grimmy comes home. He takes one look at them, opens his mouth like he’s going to speak, but then thinks better of it and walks away; he trusts Niall and Louis to have things under control, and he’ll talk to Harry later, when it’s just the two of them.

The phone rings around five-thirty, and Grimmy looks worried when he returns to the wreckroom. “Ni, it’s your mum,” he says, and the blond feels his heart drop into his stomach as he scrambles out from underneath Lou and retrieves the phone from the corner of the room. Grimmy leaves, but only for long enough to hang up from the other line, and then he’s back, his gaze carefully trained on Niall.

“Ma?” he’s asking, falling silent soon after. His face grows increasingly pale as he listens to her frantic voice telling him, _‘you need to come home. I need you home right now, Niall. Please, come home.’_ He promises her that he will, that he’ll be there as quickly as possible, asks Nick if he’ll give him a ride so that Lou won’t have to leave Harry yet, and he’s about to hang up before his mother makes one last request: _don’t turn the news on, Niall. Just come home, please._

Of course, the phone is barely out of his hand and back into its cradle before he’s shouting at someone to turn the news on, and Harry obeys, his bottom lip caught between his teeth in silent concern. The whole room seems to go silent, after that, save for the tv and a sharp intake of breath from Niall as he reads the main headline on the screen.

_PIRA BOMB KILLS 5 RUC OFFICERS; KILLEEN, IRELAND_

Niall doesn’t notice he’s been shaking until he feels Louis’ arms securing themselves around him right before his knees give out. He’s trying to listen to the coverage, even though it’s hard to hear over the blood rushing past his ears, and he’s pretty sure they haven’t released the names yet. That doesn’t comfort him, though. He feels like the worst kind of person, in that moment, because he just wants five names that aren’t his brother’s. Someone else’s brothers, someone else’s sons, and boyfriends, and husbands. Anyone but Greg. He tells himself his mother is only panicking because Greg hasn’t called to check in yet.

(He doesn’t believe himself).

-x-x-x-x-

In the end, it’s Lou who takes him home; he says it’s only right, and Niall understands. Louis has become like a third son to the Horans, so it makes sense that he would want to be there. He’s barely pulled into the driveway before Niall throws his door open and bolts out, leaving Louis to park and shut the car off on his own. He calls out to his mother as soon as he’s got the front door open, and she appears not two seconds later. The stricken expression on his face says it all, and she lets out a choked sob before she envelops him in a tight hug.

“I told you not to watch,” she says miserably, but Niall just tightens his arms around her. A third pair of arms joins the hug a moment later as Louis joins them. He’s been holding up pretty well, but as soon as they separate and he spots the tears leaking from Maura’s eyes, the dam breaks and tears are streaming down Lou’s face. He’s always been like that, says it comes from living with his mum and four sisters for so long; he can’t stand to see girls cry, and it always sets him off, too. “Oh, Lou,” his mum whispers, turning to hug him properly as Niall shuts the door and kicks off his shoes.

He manages to herd them to the living room, where Niall isn’t surprised to see his father waiting. While his mother looks frantic and upset, Bobby looks quietly devastated, resigned, and that’s when Niall knows that he was right. Knows that the problem isn’t that there’s been no news – it’s that there _has_ been. He shakes his head, determinedly not looking at his father’s face as it falls even further. _‘No,’_ he mutters under his breath, head still shaking as his voice rises, _‘No. No, no, NO!’_

Bobby stands, then, and crosses to his youngest son – his _living_ son –but Niall is quick to shrug off the hand he places on his shoulder. It’s Louis who grabs a hold of him when he turns to the end tables, reaching for the lamp with every intention of throwing it against the wall. “It isn’t fair!” He’s shouting – doesn’t realize it, but he is – and Lou just stands there and takes it when he starts pounding his fists against the older boy’s chest. “Bloody _cunts_! Why – it’s not-. _Fuck_ , it isn’t _fair_!”

“I know, Ni,” Lou whispers, tears once again escaping from his eyes as he holds the blond tighter, “I know.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had always seen this as being set in the eighties, although I'd never explicitly given a year. I suppose I still haven't, but the event that I used in this chapter took place on May 20th, 1985, although I've taken a very slight artistic liberty on it (there were only 4 officers killed, irl). Another thing I want to mention is that, from what I can find, high school proms weren't really much of a thing in the UK during this time period, but... I kind of don't care. So, I'm sorry if that bothers anyone.


End file.
